


Black Forest, Red Snow

by AMuseForADay



Category: Fairytale - Fandom
Genre: Adult Content, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Dark Magic, Dark fairytales, Eventual Fluff, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fairytales Retold, Gen, Germany, Lesbian Character, Lesbian Sex, Lesbians, Love Triangles, Magic, Mildly Dubious Consent, Original Mythology, POV Original Character, Slow Burn, Violence, Werewolves, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-11
Updated: 2016-08-27
Packaged: 2018-07-14 12:03:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7170287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AMuseForADay/pseuds/AMuseForADay
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A retelling of a favorite fairytale with dark themes and based in real lore in the heart of Black Forest, Germany.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fairytales are Just Truths Wrapped in Lies

**Author's Note:**

> This story will contain some situations of captivitiy, dubious consent, and other mildly triggering content. Please be advised before reading.

# Chapter 1: Fairytales are Just Truths Wrapped in Lies

# 

The mists settle over the trees, darkened with the evening's dusk. Drums from some ritual in the distance sound as I stand in the window of my Grandmother's cabin, the snow still thick on the ground. I can hear her telling mystical tales behind me, to the children of the village that have come to get candied apple treats and sweet breads. The fire crackles and sends shadows playing against the darkened timber walls, giving way to an even more ominous and sinister vibe that gives flight to the words she is weaving, air to feed to flames of the imaginative young minds before her. I do not have to look behind me to know she is waving her arms, eyes narrowed on some parts, widened on others and full of animation as her words hold the children with an air of suspense. 

My Grandmother is the mistress of storytelling. She lives out here, all by herself, though she does not fear the solitude. She embraces it. Some say she is a Rotzunge, a witch. A worker of the dark arts. That she can get inside your mind and twist your thoughts, until every word she utters, you believe. I know nothing of this. The herbs that hang around the old logs of her cabin are medicinal, some even for simple things such as cooking. There is no danger here, no fear of hexes. The children know this, which is why they plead with me to come every time I visit. Sadly that is not as often as I'd like, for Mother is afraid of what the people of the village might think of me. She herself has not dared to make a trip up the mountain since she met her new husband. 

My grandmother's voice draws me from my own thoughts, the deep musical husky sound of it alluring. It is as deep as the earth itself. She is telling the story of the Werewolf of Alt-Marrin, and I turn to listen as aptly as the children before her, pulling the crimson threads of my cloak closer around my slender shoulders. 

"About sixty years ago in Alt-Marrin there lived a man by the name of Gust K. He too possessed a wolf strap, with which he brought about much damage and misery. Finally the strap was taken from him, and it was to be burned. Three times the baking oven was heated up, and three times the strap was thrown into the glowing fire, but each time it jumped back out of the flames..." Here, her voice lowers to a seductive whisper and the children lean in closer. "Nor would water damage the strap. It always returned..." The children gasp in unison, fascinated by the magic that was able to keep the strap from harm. "However, the pastor from Fritzow finally burned it up. When Gust K. died, the pastor at Alt-Marrin could not finish the Lord's Prayer, and they called on the pastor from Fritzow. The latter said, 'Away, away with it!'..." Her voice raises and the children shriek, huddling together with eyes glittering in the flames. "When they tried to lower him into the earth, the grave opening was too small, so the pallbearers had to trample him down with their feet. For a long time afterward there was always a hole in his grave mound, but it will have closed up by now, for grass has been growing over the story of Gust K. for a long time hence." 

The children are all but quivering in fear. I titter good-naturedly and roll my eyes. “Enough Oma. Don't you think you've scared the children enough for one night?” 

She turns to look upon my slender frame, her dark hazel oculars scrutinizing me as if I've interrupted a very important speech, wild red hair surrounding her face like the devil's halo. Still so oddly vivid for one of her age. "Nein. They do not tell the legends anymore in the village. It is my job, nein, my duty to do so."  
A fond smile softens my features, and the gesture is heard in my voice, “Perhaps. But for today, that is enough. We must go before the men come together and suspect one of the wolves from your famous stories is real and has come to eat us all up.”

The children huddle together,clutching their treats, eyes widened. Grandmother sighs, and with the sound comes the suspicion that she will secretly miss the company once we are gone. "Fine, fine. Away with you all." She moves to stand to her feet, leaning on the strength of an old wooden staff she uses as a cane and I rush to help her. "Now, do not forget Alemannic Fastnacht. I have prepared to make many cakes for you to sell." 

I smile once more, my hand moving over her back in soothing strokes before I kiss her cheek, whispering softly, “I have not forgotten. I will be here before the sun rises.” 

She nods once in satisfaction, and walks slowly towards the door to usher the children out as they gather their coats and gloves. 

“There is no need to walk us Oma. The night is cold and you may catch.” 

She nods, far too weak to put up much fuss. I worry for her, for she has grown so frail in these last few weeks. There is also a cough that comes, one that whispers of consumption. But she swears she is well, and her herbs will help her. Still, I make a note to visit her more often. She is all alone here, with only a hunter to help her when he passes through. 

"Be careful of the woods this time of year, my Charlotte. Many things, many -bad- things lurk there,” she says, her mouth set in a thin line. 

“ I know Oma, I must be afraid of the Big Bad Wolf.” I chuckle softly and bid her a goodbye kiss before following the children. She stands at the door, watching us, and though the wind whistles through the trees, I think I hear her utter, "He comes..sooner than you think, my dear." 

A shudder, one that has nothing to do with the cold, whispers through my body and I gather the children closer to me as we start back towards the path that will bring us to the base of the mountain and back to our village. 

*********************  
The fires from the lanterns blaze in the tavern as the people of my clan gather around once again to talk of the wolf that lives in the mountains. Some claim he is a timber wolf, standing higher than any animal we've ever seen in this region. Needing to frequently kill to accommodate its large size, it hunts alone, different from the pack wolves native to our lands. Many kinsman have gone missing from this region, and the wolf is to blame. The elders fear that now that it may have obtained a taste for human blood and will cause trouble at the Alemannic Fastnacht festival. With so many people gathered together in one place, so near the forests, it may prove to be tempting even for the elusive creature.

I stand behind a wooden beam, for I'm not supposed to be here. The younger of the clan are not to hear of the news, but with my mother on the council, it is difficult to be ignorant to all that goes on. Like what the others, the oldest of the elders ridden with superstition and fear, are saying. They think it is no ordinary wolf, that it may be the were that lives in that same area. This makes me snort under my breath, everyone knows weres are only superstition. But they claim he has the traits, just like his ancestor the wolf. They have seen through him, to his soul, seen the darkness that lies within. My mother has tried to tell them that this is folly, but they have no interest in hearing her words. 

This is the penalty for being born into the Romani, with a history as deep and rich as Germany itself, we are a mixture of every race imaginable with roots tracing back as far as the Indian subcontinent. While most of my generation have fair skin and dark hair as those of German ancestry, our features still detail what lies beneath. Fourteen million Romani throughout the world, with 70,000 of us widespread throughout the country, and I was lucky enough to be born in the clan which has refused to give up the old ways and ridiculous beliefs, like that of witchcraft and dark arts, sacrifices and werewolves. My grandmother used to sit on this same council, long before she grew tired of the rituals and ignorance. A voice stirs me from my thoughts. 

"Has anyone consulted the old woman? She must know something, have seen something," someone says.

"Would she have said anything if she had? The witch probably consorts with the demon." 

My heart pulls in my chest and I feel short of breath. My mother has paled, and instinct tells me this cannot and will not end well before the scratchy voice of an elder, who is as old as this tavern, wafts through the air. 

"Let us not come to any hasty conclusions. Before the Alemannic Fastnacht, we will go to Rotzunge and see what it is that she knows. If she communes with the creature, perhaps she may know of some incantation to keep it at bay." 

A more skeptical protest rings out. "Are you mad? She'd as soon see us all dead! Why do you think she moved way up there near the cliffs? She knows what he's up to around here. Our people were safe until he came. She knew that." 

My mother seems to have no voice, not that any would hear her, they have all gone into a frenzy of fear and confusion. All the while my grandmother lies ill and unknowing to what is taking place. Slowly, I begin to back out of the tavern, until I feel the handle of the door behind me, and turn to rush out into the snow in a full run towards my home. 

I have to warn her. I have to.

************************  
The night is freezing, darkness having settled over the village hours ago. Fluttering about my room as I prepare a small bag for the journey to my Grandmother's, I hear the door open. More than likely it is mother coming home from the meeting at the tavern, so I ignore it as I stuff more skirts and a couple of shirts into my bag. I have not had time to make a larger fire and tug the cloak I wear, tighter around my frame.

The presence standing in the doorway surprises me as I turn, a sharp cry escaping my lips. I throw hands upwards to clamp over the rosy petals as if to stifle the sound. He is tall and dark, features angled perfectly. Adolf, son of the leader of our clan and his dark eyes are currently on my bag. 

"Do you intend to make a trip Charlotte?"

I set my jaw, shifting the bag further behind me, as if this will somehow erase his memory that he's seen it.

“Yes, I am.”  
He tilts his head as he steps further into the room, his eyes flickering to the fireplace where the embers of the small fire I'd prepared upon coming home, are beginning to wane, flaming orange light dulling to a rusty color. 

"And where would that be? As you have not made a larger fire, and the frigid temperature of the room in which we stand, one would almost suspect that you arrived here with the intention of leaving in a hurry." 

His eyes wander to mine now, holding me there, spellbound beneath the scrutiny of his dark gaze. "You wouldn't have happened to be running off to that witch of a grandmother would you?" 

I bristle at the tone with which he utters her name, and the term "witch", jutting my chin out defiantly. “And if I was? Would /you/ dare to stop me?” 

I reach up to pull my hood over my head, and step forward, just as he does, blocking my path. 

"I may have to. You do not understand, Charlotte. She is aiding an insane man."

I scoff, narrowing my eyes. “First you would have one believe she is aiding a "wolf' would you not? And now you stand before me spouting lies of Hund’s insanity? Make up your mind. I do not know the man. What he does is none of my concern. He can skin the flesh of babies down to the bone for all I care. But I will /not/ allow you imbeciles to mistreat my grandmother in any way. She has done nothing wrong other than befriend a man that you all fear.” 

At my words,I detect a spark of anger in his eyes and he reaches forward to grasp my shoulders roughly, shaking me and causing a gasp to elicit from my lips. 

"Do you hear yourself? You are so blinded by your love and devotion for her, you do not see what's been in front of you all along," his voice is urgent, eyes glittering with excitement. 

I wrench free of him, backing towards the hearth, fear and panic rising like bile in my throat, I am nearly sick with it. The look in his eyes is threatening, maddening. 

“I am /blinded/? You are all trying to kill a man the elders deem a werewolf. When there is no such /thing/!” My voice has risen higher, as if by increase of volume someone will perhaps hear and come in to save me, though from what, even I do not know. 

"You foolish girl." He advances towards me as I back away. "You think this is about whether he is human or beast? To me it does not matter. He can be a clown of a thousand circuses, or the devil him bloody self. It is of little consequence." 

“Then why are you trying to kill him? Why does everyone want him dead?”

At my words, he stares at me, as if incredulous of the little I do not know. "Do you truly have no knowledge? Are you so ignorant? To protect you!" 

None of it makes any sense and my head is swimming, with words, with his words, my fear, my love for my grandmother, my hatred of the village, and all of the ridiculous superstition. 

I move against the wall near the hearth where a poker rests in the stand which holds it. Slowly, discretely, I reach to wrap my fingers around the slender iron.  
“You are lying.”

He shakes his head. "No. Hund has been here for a very long time. Long ago a maiden was promised to him, she was very beautiful and loved by everyone. She didn't want to marry him and fell in love with someone else,it drove him mad and she disappeared....it is no secret he killed her. And now---- now he has come back, for you." 

I blink rapidly, as his words hit me like a gale force wind, ripping and tearing at that which he is implying. Surely.... that is not possible.

“Stop your lies, Adolf. I warn you! Be silent now.” 

He advances closer still, hands raised as if to show good faith. "They are no lies. Your grandmother made a deal with the beast. You,for the safety of her people. And eternal life." 

I scream and cannot seem to control my actions as blind fury at his words takes over, and my limbs move of their own accord. I raise the iron as Adolf's eyes widen and slam it against the side of his head watching as he falls over, slumped on the floorboards, crumpled in a limp heap. 

Staggering backwards, I stare down at him, in disbelief of what I've done, before swallowing hard and dropping the iron. Metal clanging against wood, before fleeing from the room, flinging the door open as tears sting my eyes. I run out into the bitter cold of the night, feet crunching against the snow, even as more begins to fall. 

I have to get to Grandmother's, now more than ever. I have to know the truth, I have to know about Hund and the deal that was made. No more lies.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After learning startling knowledge about the secrets her grandmother may hold, Charlotte decides to seek out the truth herself. But sometimes the truth is better left unknown.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a retelling of Little Red Riding Hood with dark themes, and is based on German lore as well as my own imagination.  
> Soundtrack: The Wolf by Fever Ray

      The journey is difficult, and one that I should not make with so little light, save for that of the moon as it filters through clouds that pass like the shadows of ghosts. Anxiety spikes tension within my blood, and the unsettlement of my stomach grows more pronounced until I feel as though I may give up the little I’ve eaten. Gloved palms brace against the abrasive bark of a tree trunk as I stop only for a moment to catch my breath, the pants leaving my lips in gusts. Even through the thick wool of my cloak and the leather that covers my hands and feet, I can feel the bite of winter’s chill, creeping in with fingers that seek to leech every trace of warmth in my my blood, but I cannot linger. Each moment that I allow myself to do so is another moment that angry villagers could form a mob. Reaching down with one hand, I grab hold of my skirts to start forward when a mournful howl pierces through the stillness of the night and my blood runs cold as I freeze in place. 

 

There is no answering call that signals a pack, and the sound of the howl was far too near, too dangerously close to allow myself to remain any longer. So with legs that ache and burn in protest against the quick and harsh movements of my quickening movements in the rival of thick snow, I hurry on. But I can feel...something...watching me. Tracking me. Stalking me.  _ Hunting  _ me. 

 

And then wolf’s howls are silent. 

 

Now and again I look back, eyes always searching the darkness of the trees, but if something indeed lurks there, it desires to remain from my sight. That is until I come face to face with it in a clearing. The beast. My breaths cease, shock suspending them along with the flow of blood in my veins that already turns to ice with the cold, now completely numb with fear. The only thing that moves is the beat of my heart. A steady thump, thump, thump, rapidly increasing. I can scarcely swallow… or cry out for help that would not come anyway. 

 

It is taller and larger than any wolf I have seen before, and I know if it should stand upon its hind legs, it would tower over me by at least a foot, and on all fours its back would reach my shoulder. He is covered in onyx fur, as dark as the night he seems to reign, though it gleams beneath the light of the moon in a hypnotizing, almost ethereal way. The wolf does not bare its teeth, and it makes nary a sound. It simply stares with amber eyes that burn like the fire of a setting sun, or the fires of hell from which its master Teufel resides, breaths coming out like steam from its nostrils in the chill. And I wonder… wonder if it can hear my heart pounding like the beat of a thousand drums. Sending blood through veins that pulse with life and call to be devoured. I wonder if it is my body it seeks… or my soul, if I should die here on this night. 

 

Torn to crimson shreds, blood staining the snow as red as my cloak.

 

The air seems to thicken dangerously with its presence, with the tension that envelops us as I stare at the wolf, and it stares at me as if seeing into my soul and beyond to the darkest reaches of an imagination so horrid that it is never allowed to see the light of day. Like a harbinger it appears, heralding of some great peril to come, and then it is gone in the time it takes for me to lower my lashes in a blink, evanescing into the darkness like an apparition. 

 

I run. Body moving without chancing a thought of anything else besides self preservation and the sole mission of reaching my grandmother. I run through the drifts of snow, until I feel struck through with cold, and it seems like forever drags on, my steps torturously endless until Grandmother’s home becomes visible through the break in the thick coverage of trees, settled atop the hill as it always is,the warm glow of the fire and undoubtedly many candles shining through the small panes of glass that face my direction. Though relief courses through me, I do not slow my pace, bounding up the steps to open the door, the sudden warmth a shock to my system as I allow a rivaling gust of bitter wind to follow me inside, my eyes frantically searching for her. 

 

“Oma!” I call out, slowly closing the door behind me, breaths coming in sharp pants as I attempt to regain it after the arduous journey. 

 

I am greeted with only silence. An eerie silence, broken now and again by the crackle and snapping of the wood on the fire. There is something amiss here. Instinctively I know this, though instinct does not gift me with the knowledge of what the dangers are. I feel the urgency to flee. To protect myself from an unknown danger. 

 

But Grandmother needs me, and I will not leave here without her. 

 

“Oma?” The call is now a question, and even I can hear the waver of wariness within its tone. The fear, that like prey being lured by a predator, I will regret this false bravery. “Oma, where are you? We must go. There is trouble in the village.” 

 

Her voice comes like a whisper, softer, deeper, scratchy, and somehow more frail from the far side of the room where her bed rests, the sheer curtain creating a silhouette of her form. “Trouble? What kind of trouble, my dear?”

 

“The clan. They think the wolf...that  _ Hund  _ is dangerous. They blame him for the villagers that have been found missing or dead. And they think that….” The words catch in my throat. If I do not say them aloud, then they cannot be affirmed. My heart knows the truth, but my mind, still very much a child in its naivety refuses to believe. What Adolf said cannot be true. 

 

“What do they think?” comes the response, urging me on. Yet she still does not move and my steps slow.

 

“They think that you have made a deal with Hund. That you know of him and what he has done, and you made a deal with him that he should harm no one and... he would have me,” my voice barely rises above a whisper and it is possible she has not heard me at all as the silence grows into a looming shadow. 

“And what is it that you believe?” 

 

The question catches me off guard and my steps still. Had I expected denial? Outrage at the implication? Laughter that these wild tales could be uttered from the mouths of those like children without supervision? I do not know what I expected, but it was not this. 

 

“I do not know what to believe,” I say softly. There is a hint of something within the air, a scent that I did not notice at first, above the strong earthen fragrances of wood, spices, smoke, smoke, and all those things that are so familiar. Iron. Metallic, rich, and bitter. “Oma? Are you well?” 

 

“Come closer child, and see.” 

 

Though everything within me warns me to turn and flee, I move forward once more, trembling hand reaching out as I near the sheer. “Your voice, it is so scratchy.” 

 

“It is only a cold that makes my voice so hoarse. For the night is cold and damp. Come beneath the furs with me, for you are cold as well.” 

 

The boards beneath my feet creak as my weight settles with each slow step and slender fingers curl around the thin material to pull it back. Her back faces me in the large bed before the fire where she is wrapped in many furs, sleeping bonnet upon the wild red hair, The request is not strange. I have slept with her many times, the warmth of my body shared with her. Yet, even as I slip out of my boots and take off my cloak, I want to say no. 

 

Shadows play and dance as I round the bed slowly, moving to climb onto the large bed beneath the furs. I face away from her, afraid to meet the shrewd gaze of her eyes, if I am to question her further about what Adolf said. Her arms surround me, surprisingly strong and sure. And that feeling is there again, that something about this is all wrong. Stiffening, I whisper softly. 

 

“Oma...what big arms you have.” 

 

“The better to embrace you with, my dear.”

 

My breathing grows shallow, fear biting sharply as I continue, “What big legs you have.” 

 

“The better to run with, my dear.”

 

Her voice is softer, yet there is still a throaty quality, one with a dangerous edge that sends chills through my body no fire could warm and the hairs on the back of my neck rise. I don’t want to turn, don’t want to see…. But I do. Slowly, eyes first falling on her ears that poke out from beneath her bonnet. 

 

“What big ears you have,” the words are uttered in a shuddering whisper as tension swells. 

 

“The better to hear you with, my dear.” 

 

The shadows seem to play tricks upon my eyes, and the features are shrouded in darkness and furrs from the eyes down, but I know the moment my own eyes meet the impostor’s before me, that it is not my Oma. But I am too afraid to move, too clever to release the protective cloak of my naivety. 

 

“What big eyes you have.” 

 

“The better to see you with, my dear.”

 

I do not breathe for a moment as the tension crests and every muscle within my body coils in preparation, but I do not move until I feel a sudden pinch of pain on my neck which spurs me into action and suddenly I reach to pull the furs away, screaming when I see the face of a woman I do not recognize. In the tumult of the moment it takes me to shove her back with so much force, that it sends me careening back and falling to the floor, I see that she is older than me, but not by much, eyes wild and blue as the flaming wildness of her hair. Her is like alabaster, features deceivingly delicate and strong at once. 

 

“Charlotte..” My name seems to be almost reverent upon full lips, her hands reaching out as if to calm me, But I barely have time to process any of this before my eyes fall to the floor where I am scrambling to get up, finally seeing the hand that peeks from beneath the bed where blood pools and I know...I know without seeing that it belongs to my grandmother. 

 

That she is dead and this monster has killed her. 

 

Grief, fear, anger all intertwine and I feel something snap within me. Something that calls for survival and revenge. 

 

“Please… It isn’t what you think.”

 

But I do not hear, do not see. Moving into a crouch, I lunge to send us both falling backwards, nails clawing, the sounds from my throat as feral as the snarls that rip from the murderer’s, but my vision blurs and suddenly I am not as steady or as strong and I know I must get to safety or a weapon. An axe in the corner catches my eye, and I dive for it, but the woman is stronger, holding me fast until I bite into her shoulder, teeth piercing and tearing at flesh until I taste her blood in my mouth before she throws me off. 

 

Pain jolts my body as my back meets the wall, head hitting solid wood leaving me senseless for a moment, but I turn to crawl towards the door, the room beginning to spin. The door seems so far away and I know I will never make it. I will die here, just as Oma did. Unbidden tears burn my eyes. 

 

But the door bursts open, cold rushing in once more and I pray it is the mob I thought to save my grandmother from. Someone from the town that has followed me here, maybe even knowing what I have done to Adolf. I do not expect to see the large muscular frame of Hund, thick dark hair pulled back in a ponytail, body sheathed in black, and the dark whiskey color of his eyes looks down at me in what seems like concern, sadness, and the shadow of something far more sinister. 

 

“You weren’t supposed to be here.”

 

Darkness pulls, dragging me under and I can no longer move, crawl.. I cannot even summon the words to cry for help.  

  
I can only succumb to my fate.

**Author's Note:**

> Any questions or comments are welcome, as well as suggestions for how you'd like to see the story progress. Emails are also welcome at AMuseForADay@gmail.com.


End file.
